


oblivion

by olliebrobeck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Music, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Minor Violence, Not Beta Read, Sad Tsukishima Kei, Third Year Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Kei Being an Asshole, Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking, tsukkiyama and kurotsuki can be platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliebrobeck/pseuds/olliebrobeck
Summary: "I'm moving on," he mumbles, but Kuroo shakes his head."Repression isn't moving on, Tsukishima."
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou & Tsukishima Kei, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Kei & Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Kudos: 57





	oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> the storytelling in this story is vague, so you may have to piece together some information. this is intentional.

Scuff marks litter the wooden doorframe. Heavy falls of boots disturb the peaceful apartment as a veil of chaos ticked down like a time bomb, ready to detonate.

The door slams behind him. Strong hands pull him back before he can step out of the genkan with his muddy boots on.

"You have to stop this."

"Fuck off."

Kuroo's hand remained latched onto his windbreaker, even as he childishly tried to swat them away. He unzips his jacket to escape once again, but a hand on his shoulder holds him back again.

Fine, he thinks irritably. Cooperate lest he presses me to the wall like the hero he is.

Kei kneels down and unties the laces on his boots, yanking his arm from Kuroo's grip. He toes his shoes off and turns his back to Kuroo and into the kitchen. He returned not a moment later though, a pink lighter and a blunt twirling in his long slender fingers.

"Oi. Give me back my headphones."

Kuroo startles. "Uh, no, not until you tell me where you got that. Give it here." He takes a cautious step towards the blonde, eyes demanding.

"Fukunaga has more than just a drinking problem." Kei cups his hand in front of the flame and takes a drag, blowing smoke in Kuroo's direction.

The bed head ignores the comment. "Give it now. You haven't even graduated high school."

The blonde takes another drag, inspecting the anger and concern in the older man's eyes. He considers his options: he threw his phone at the wall on impulse yesterday, so he really has no point to ask for his headphones back if there's no music to listen to. He glances at the black wire of his headphones sticking out of Kuroo's bag. His anger flares— they were just outside in the rain. That's not how anyone should treat his headphones. His intense glare easily overpowers Kuroo's, but the ex-captain stays strong in front of Kei. He usually does.

He sighs boredly, carelessly flicking the unfinished blunt into the pot that housed a dead Dracaena and malnourished soil. Kuroo retrieved Kei's headphones and tossed them to its owner. The blonde leaves without a word, and Kuroo goes to properly put out the blunt when he sees many cigarette butts to accompany the blunt.

He needs to have a serious conversation with Fukunaga. _Soon._

Kei wasn't found in the kitchen, nor the living room.

"Kei?" Kuroo called out. No answer. The path down the narrow hallway is unfamiliar as Kuroo explores. He's been to this house a couple times, but never in this part. 

There's singing to his right as he passes a door. Its wooden exterior looks worn down and abused.

He knocks, and startles when the door is nearly kicked off its hinges with the force of Kei's leg.

Kuroo relaxes his arm from when he flinched. The door swings open the wrong way, and he peers at the broken lock before his eyes fall in disbelief on the swaying figure.

"Kei? The fuck was that?" 

He shrugged. His eyes were closed, and he hummed softly to himself with his headphones on. "Scared me."

Kuroo then notices the swirl of white smoke circling the tall blonde when he lifts a black pen to his lips.

"Tsukishima. I put up with a lot of your shit, but this I won't tolerate." He makes a move to grab the pen from the pale fingers when Kei clenches a fist and reels his arm back. His wrist is caught before his knuckles could make contact with Kuroo's jaw, and he is suddenly turned around, hand on his shoulder, pen slapped out of his mouth as Kuroo pressed both his wrists together. Kei cries when pain shoots up his arm.

"Will you listen to me? You need to stop this. You haven't been to school in weeks. I had to hear about you from Daichi, who heard from Tanaka, who heard from Yachi. No one could get a hold of you. Kei, everyone is worried sick." 

Kei gasps in his grip. "Fuck them. They don't matter. A–Ah! Shit." 

Kuroo loosens his grip and pushes Kei so he's sitting on the bed. "You don't mean that." 

"I do." Kei massages his wrists, hissing in pain. He trains his eyes on Kuroo's feeling his haunting stare. 

"What? Wanna fuck?"

The former captain looks down on him, disappointed.

Kei scoffs, shaking his head.

"Maybe you are different. The others couldn't give a shit. You actually went out of your way to show it."

"You're wrong." 

"You're full of shit." Kei stands, shoving past Kuroo. "Why are you actually here? To get away from Kenma? Wouldn't blame you if you did."

"That was two years ago. He didn't—"

"Two years ago _what_? Is it two years before or after Tadashi, huh? Kuroo, _I still have the shirt_ . The glasses I'm wearing _right now_ still have his blood caked in. I can't get rid of them because they're my _lifeline_ , and you wanna talk about moving on?" He backed Kuroo to the doorframe, shoving at him. Kuroo held back a wince. "I haven't spoken to Tadashi's parents in years. They're too busy being shit-faced dead to care about how sorry I am. They don't matter. I don't matter. Nothing matters anymore; not even the stupid shit Kenma said matters! Only Tadashi matters. And he's _fucking_ dead."

Kei backed away. He yanks his glasses off and throws them somewhere, rubbing his eyes viciously.

Kuroo catches the glasses before they shatter on the ground. 

"He's— fuck." 

The glasses. He can see splotches of dark brown. His hands shake, revolted, and he chokes up, too.

Kei collapses on the bed. He screams into his hands, and Kuroo watches from afar. He hadn't done much, but Kei seemed to have reached his limit. Emotions overflow in the form of tears, and the blonde hides them away in his arms, his fingernails digging crescents into his temples. Kuroo wonders when the last time Kei cried was.

He stalks towards the edge of the bed before cautiously sitting next to Kei, keeping a safe distance away. He's trembling, sniffling and holding in cries for the sake of his damaged pride.

"Who's room is this?" Kuroo asks, though he already knew the answer.

"None of your fucking business."

Kei cowers under the weight of Kuroo's glare.

"Tadashi," he says. His voice is small, and he curls further into himself.

"But his stuff is still here?" It's strange. An older model laptop sits half-closed on a desk, collecting layers and layers of dust. Fairy lights hung above them, fuses blown and dead. The only change Kuroo can spot is the number twelve Karasuno uniform hung in the open closet, rather than its previous place in Tsukishima's room, accompanying his number eleven jersey. A chill jolts down his spine.

Kei huffs a dry laugh. "People are refusing to buy the house because they're afraid of Nearly Headless Nick coming to watch them sleep. How fucking stupid can they be?"

Kuroo shoots him a withering look.

"What? If all that spirit bullshit was real, I would've killed myself sooner."

"Kei…"

The blonde pats his pockets for a blunt, but then remembers he had wasted his last one in front of Kuroo. _Dumbass_.

Silence fell between them. Kei wants to film it with _something_. Maybe a kick to Kuroo's gut could shock something out of both of them.

"You're a shit friend." Kei deadpans.

Kuroo says nothing.

"You didn't even go to his funeral."

Nothing. He knows. _He knows._

Finally, Kuroo speaks up, averting his eyes. "Where were you?" 

"Huh?" 

"You weren't at the funeral either. Why?"

Kei actually snarls. "Because he wouldn't want me to be in that environment."

"How could you _know_ that?" Kuroo says. He's angry, now. The blatant disrespect Kei gives for one of the best people in his life is disgusting.

"Because he _knows_ me. And I know him. You know nothing." Kei jumps up, bolts across the room. He eyes the closet door. With clenched fists, he pulls on the switch, turning the light on, and closing the closet door. He punctuates his actions with his fist.

"Okay." He paces, breathing heavily. "Okay. I'm going to ask you again before I tell you to get the fuck out: why are you here? It's like you followed me here to lay me to rest."

He chokes at his words. He covers a sob behind his hand.

Kuroo studies the shaking boy in front of him. He looks so tired, so broken down. The Tsukishima pacing in front of him is not the same as two years before. He misses the sarcastic jabs that never really had any bite. He misses the fire in his eyes whenever he's stop spikers from getting past his wall. In front of him now stood a monster, blinded by anger and grief to really see his true self. His jabs and comments sting as much as his punches.

" _Hey,_ " the blonde shouts. He reaches for the closest thing — a small year planner — and chucks it at Kuroo's head. The former captain couldn't find it in himself to catch it. Any possession of Tadashi Yamaguchi did not deserve to be tainted by his fingertips.

The planner bounces off his arm and opens up on the rugged floor, showing scrawly handwriting dating back to August 2013. Kuroo looks away, noting how Kei physically turns his body against the planner. He shakes.

Any possession of Tadashi Yamaguchi did not deserve to have Kuroo's fingers taint them. And, in this case, neither with Tsukishima's.

"Kei," he calls, reeling back from a tense moment of silence. The blonde flinches, twisting his neck barely to squint at the man.

"Kei, I'm here so you can talk to me. You're in a worse state than I prepared for. I just want to help—" 

The blonde scoffs.

"I'm _fucking_ _serious_ , damn it!" He slams his fist on his lap. His shout tears meaning throughout the room. Kei freezes.

"I'm moving on," he mumbles, but Kuroo shakes his head.

"Repression isn't moving on, Tsukishima."

He says it like it's obvious. Like Kei's been a complete idiot all this time. Maybe he has.

Kei's face crumbles.

"What's there to say? He's dead." 

Kuroo stays silent; Kei's not done.

"Do you wanna know something I found out?" He inquires, his voice a tint whisper. He doesn't wait for a reply.

"Last year, autopsies reports say he was intoxicated with a high dosage of narcotics. Opioids." He let the new piece of information sink in. Kuroo inhales a sharp breath.

"I have no idea how he managed to get a hold of it. He was always a clever boy." Kei shutters in his hands. His eyes are sealed closed, like he's trying to lock his tears inside.

"I hope he felt good. God, I hope he wasn't hurting. I thought dying young from drugs was a Western thing." The way he puts his words sounds like he's joking. But, no. Kei whimpers in disbelief, like he's just processing the loss of the only thing he can call home.

He gasps.

"He didn't even leave a note." 

Kuroo stands and catches Kei before his knees buckle. He guides him, sitting him down. His back is hunched, and his sobs are muffled. He doesn't protest when Kuroo hesitates to embrace him. He leans into the warmth.

Hands trail up and down the bumps of Kei's spine. Later, when this is resolved, Kuroo is going to serve this kid the healthiest comfort food he has, because dear _God,_ he needs it.

Strong hands trail and massage parts of the blonde's upper body, and the sobs die down on Kuroo's shoulder after a while. Kei doesn't hug back. That's okay. Of course that's okay; he's not expected to do anything other than receive the security he's being given.

An unprecedented wave of exhaustion must have hit Kei, because when the Nekoma alumnus was brought down on earth by a soft snore, he startled, causing the blonde to protest in his sleep.

Kuroo figured staying for a while longer wouldn't hurt Kei. 

He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in the room, the empty house, late at night though. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he imagines a horrifying spirit from a 2005 shock photo staring at the back of his head and standing at the doorway.

He feels silly. Silly like some ghost believers that can't handle an innocent little kid roaming the closet.

He buries his face in Kei's neck, just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> not to soil the "mood" but this is shit lol
> 
> i'm leaving what kenma said two years prior, the specific cause of tadashi's death, and kei's shirt and glasses up for interpretation until my brain gets better at writing
> 
> sorry krtsk's i know i said they can be read as platonic or romantic but i had irondad & spider son whump on my mind while writing this 
> 
> and um. sorry for this fic :( i needed to get this out.
> 
> catch me on tumblr if ya want: [olliebrobeck](https://olliebrobeck.tumblr.com/)
> 
> blm


End file.
